Of Foreheads Mighty
by Professor-Piggy
Summary: Dekomori rings in the New Year with, and survives and ambush from, the treacherous fake Mori Summer.


Fake Mori Summer turned her face from the sunrise and towards Dekomori, lips curled in a frown and eyes alight with suspicion and anger. Dekomori felt her own expression twist into a scowl at the sight, and her body tensed as she prepared herself for the inevitable attack. It came in an instant, the imposter's arm shooting out towards her like deathly lightning, blade in hand – but she was prepared. On instinct, her hand shot out and she caught her treacherous attacker by the wrist before lunging forward to drive her mighty head into Fake Mori Summer's belly. As her hated foe staggered backward, Dekomori moved to relieve her of the weapon she carried, and found herself face to face with...

A candy cane. Or what had been one, before her disarming technique had sent it sailing to the earth, where it shattered like the icy heart of the one who had been wielding it. As she stared at the twisted remains of the once delicious weapon, her mind caught up with her body and she felt her cheeks flush. Not an attack then. An offer of surrender, or an attempted poisoning – as if a servant, the first servant, of the mighty tyrant's eye would ever be fooled by such a pathetic ruse! But then... there was always the possibility that the gesture had been _genuine. _

Before she could ponder the terrifying implications of such a possibility, a hand on her shoulder reminded her that her most deathly enemy was still standing – and if she had by some strange distortion of fate not been intent on erasing Dekomori's dark existence before, she almost certainly was now. She spun on her heel, dropping low as she did in an attempt to kick her opponent's legs from under her, only to find that it was vastly more difficult perform such a feat when she was being yanked back onto her feet by the hair.

Shinka's expression was death, and her eyes murder.

'Why?' Came the question, and Dekomori knew her life hinged on the answer. But so be it; she was the favoured servant of the tyrant's eye, the favoured daughter of one of the mortal realm's most powerful noble houses – she would not let her tongue be stilled by feigned innocence of a usurper who had doubtless planned to make use of her temporary disempowerment to destroy her anyway.

'U...um...', she stammered, staring into those beautiful, burning brown eyes, 'I...I...'

'Why?' Shinka hissed, her tone promising cruelties that no mortal mind had yet conceived.

'I...you...you attacked me! You sought to unleash death upon me as the first feeble rays of light from the from the first sun of your mortal year rose over the horizon – the normal horizon, not the ethereal horizon - stripping me of my demonic powers and rendering me weak and vulnerable for these few deathly moments!

For a moment, Shinka said nothing. And then a heavy sigh escaped her lips, the warmth of her breath sending a chill down Dekomori's spine. No doubt an attempt to rewin her trust, to cloud her mind with thoughts of – her treacherous foe released her, and she hit the ground hard with a yelp.

'So what you're saying,' that most hated of angelic voices echoed all around her in a tone colder than even the chill of the still falling snow, 'is that I invited you – specifically you - to watch the first sunrise of the New Year with me, and you invented some ridiculous reason to turn it into a fight?'

Dekomori pushed herself to her feet with the grace of a fearsome tiger, eyes darting left and right to calculate possible escape routes – or so she would tell the Master, when recounting the details of the events. In truth, she was finding it difficult to look anywhere other than at her own fur clad feet. The heavens could not have chosen a greater rival for her than this _pretender, _this _insult _to the name Mori Summer, who wielded the power of shame as effectively and brutally as she wielded her own Mjolnir Maul.

'...Sorry,' she muttered fearsomely, her voice piercing the silence like... like the voice of an idiot who couldn't think of anything else to say.

Nibutani's eyes widened in surprise, and then darted back to the horizon. Slowly but surely, a smile graced her face like a bright flame illuminating the blackest pits of hell. It was perfect. But of course it was – she had been sent specifically to ensnare Dekomori. The only solution, the only way to free herself, was to -

'Don't do it,' Nibutani warned, and Dekomori blinked in shock.

'D-do what?' She bluffed masterfully, her honey tongue erasing all suspicion from the mind of her -

'Don't give me that. It's written all over your face. 'Muhahaha, my deathly hated enemy has turned her deathly back on me and been deathly foolish enough to leave me an opening. Death.' Don't do it.'

'You...you're mistaken! A servant of the Tyrant's Eye would never be so deathly treacherous as to attack even her greatest foe after admitting a mistake! It would bring deathly _shame _upon my name! And I don't sound like that! I sound awesome!'

Shinka let out a quiet laugh, and turned back towards her with a grin, raven hair fluttering in the wind. Dekomori felt her breath stolen away, and knew beyond doubt that the witch was claiming it for her own. She had to... she needed to...

There was nothing she could do but stand motionless, spellbound, as Mori Summer reached across and poked her magnificent brow.

'Right,' the angel smirked, 'sure you do.'

As Dekomori tried to stammer something, anything, that would help her defend herself - a counterspell, a curse, a threat, a bluff - Mori Su – _fake _Mori Summer sighed again, and rolled her those pools of treacherous radiance she called eyes.

'I suppose I'm going to have to put this in a way you'll understand. I'm only doing this once, and I swear that if you tell _anybody_ about it, I really _will _kill you. Got it?'

Dekomori didn't say a word. She simply maintained her perfect composure and nodded rapidly. In...in order to fool Nibutani, so that Mori Summer wouldn't stop speaking to her, for h... no! So that she could acquire suitable blackmail material. That was all. It was her duty to be all knowing, her duty to – her thought cut itself short as Nibutani cleared her throat and started speaking, voice low and dangerous.

'Dekomori Sanae, favoured servant of the Tyrant's Eye! Since the day of our fated meeting, the stars have pitted us against each other like animals, clawing and scratching at one another's throats in a struggle without end – and why? What purpose is there in forcing we two who once called each other friend, long ago in the days when I, Mori Summer, the last mage still living, could openly tread the earth without fear against one another? For too long, even _my _vision has been clouded by these machinations. But now, my eyes are open!'

'And.. and what do you see!?' Dekomori tried to keep the excitement from her voice, and failed, she clasped her hands together in delight, trying her best to force down the grin that was attempting to wrest control of her face from her, and maintain a demeanour suitable to the -

Mori Summer smiled a cruel, beautiful smile, and the battle was lost. 'What do I see? I see the truth – that the fates force us to battle one another because they _fear _us. They fear us, because together the two of us have the power to _defy _them, to tear them asunder and rewrite destiny in any fashion we see fit. We could bend this world to our wills, protect those we love and destroy all who stand in our way – all it would take is for you to reach out, and take my hand! What say you, my former student? Will you not stand with me, at the dawn of this new year, and know me as _friend?'_

For a heartbeat, Dekomori simply stared at the extended hand – and a heartbeat was all it took before she lunged forward to take it, to clasp it in both of hers, and found herself colliding with the palm as she was pushed backwards into the snow. She lay quiet, blinking at the sky and wondering what had happened, until the visage of Mori Summer appeared above her, smirking triumphantly.

'Payback,' she said simply, reaching out a hand to help her up. Dekomori could do nothing but reach up and grasp it.


End file.
